


What Is Wisdom If It Is Not Now

by asparkofgoodness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Confessions, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Late Night Conversations, Loss of Faith, Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Questions, Temptation, Wing Grooming, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparkofgoodness/pseuds/asparkofgoodness
Summary: In the aftermath of the almost-Apocalypse, Aziraphale agonizes over questions and Crowley works to piece together a puzzle.





	What Is Wisdom If It Is Not Now

**Author's Note:**

> Michael Sheen's [incredibly expressive face](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a54bef626af5625312121c148affa0fa/tumblr_pu1rlh5CaJ1qcqxh7o6_540.gif) was the spark of inspiration for this fic. The title comes from my favorite W.S. Merwin poem, [The Different Stars](https://www.epl.org/national-poetry-month-april-12th/).

“what is wisdom if it is not

now

in the loss that has not left this place

oh if we knew

if we knew what we needed if we even knew

the stars would look to us to guide them”

\- W.S. Merwin

Demons don’t dream.Even Crowley, with his unique imaginative abilities, simply powered off when he slept.If demons did dream, Crowley knew exactly what image his subconscious mind would return to, over and over.Most nights, when he closed his eyes, it came to him unbidden, lingering until he slid into slumber.

Aziraphale and his wings.

The look of absolute, innocent ecstasy crossing his face as they spread behind him.The deep, indulgent breath; the blissful exhale.The pure white feathers brilliant against the beige desert sands.The fall of his shoulders as the thousands-of-years-old tension of concealment fell away.The soft sigh.

Crowley had never seen anything so beautiful.

When he Fell, most of his memories of Heaven had burned away, but he knew, he just knew, that no other angel had ever looked like that before.Without Satan’s imminent arrival to worry about, Crowley would have stared forever, held back the forces of time until he had grown drunk on the angel’s elation, a kind of intoxication he could never sober up from.Instead, he had slipped his sunglasses on to shield his eyes and focused on Adam, on saving their world.

Now, a peaceful month later, he couldn’t shake that vision.After yet another night of sleep delayed, tossing and turning in Aziraphale’s bedsheets while the angel read in the next room, he realized the only cure for his fixation: he needed to see that exact same joy light Aziraphale’s face again.The only question left was _how?_

\-----

Contrary to what Crowley believed, Aziraphale was not actually reading under the light of the lamp in his small, dusty living room.There was a pile of books on an end table, and there was a mug of cocoa next to them, and there was an overstuffed armchair enveloped in the small circle of warm light, but there wasn’t an angel sitting in it.Ever since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, when Crowley slept, Aziraphale wandered.

The direction didn’t matter.Desiring something but not knowing quite what, he would step out into the cool late-summer darkness, closing and locking the bookshop door carefully so as not to wake Crowley.Since the Ritz, they had been inseparable: not by any spoken agreement, but because the stress and fear, the intimacy of having inhabited each others’ bodies, had magnified their gravitational pull.Since he did have a shop to run (or, rather, a collection to protect), Aziraphale needed to be at his place most of the time, and so Crowley had been there, too, ever since.

After drunkenly passing out on Aziraphale’s old sofa the first night, Crowley took him up on his suggestion of using his bed the next.After all, Aziraphale barely ever used it, and it was, like all things in the angel’s flat, worn just to the point of being very comfortable.Secretly, Aziraphale also liked knowing that Crowley was close by, within range of his protection, just in case.

Tonight, Aziraphale left his shop and turned right.Soaking in the calm of the empty Soho streets, he easily lost track of earthly measures like time and distance.He found himself on Greek Street, where a familiar establishment drew his attention.He was passing by L’Escargot, a lovely French restaurant that served a soufflé so light and perfect he could have sworn it had been baked in France and smuggled, very quickly and carefully, into London.

The memory of their last meal there brought a smirk to his face.The poor waiter had made it halfway through describing the night’s special – duck à l’orange – when Crowley had held up a hand and interrupted him with a snappy “Stop.Angel, order.” 

When the man was out of hearing range, Aziraphale had shot the demon a pointed look.“Really, Crowley?What did he do to deserve such rude treatment?”

“Duck,” Crowley scoffed.“Snails, sure, they’re French, I get it.Well, hang on, no, I don’t get it.Nasty, slimy things.What mad Frenchman thought, ‘oh, look at that gooey creature. I wonder what it tastes like in a garlic and parsley sauce’?But snails are pests destined for short lives anyway.Ducks, on the other hand…” 

He had sniffed, falling silent as if his point were made, and looked away from Aziraphale, who was giving him that smile he saved for moments when Crowley was being endearing, letting a little kindness show through his facade.Aziraphale said, “It’s not as if they get them from the park, you know.”

Crowley had quickly turned his head, glaring, mouth open, ready with some biting comeback, but then the waiter had returned with their wine and Aziraphale had seized the chance to change the subject.He had launched into an excited story about the new first edition he had acquired earlier that day, and Crowley humored him by pretending to listen, watching him talk.It had been a nice night.

Reaching an intersection, Aziraphale turned left.Aimless, he could have just as easily turned right.Maybe he would tomorrow.With no destination in mind, he meandered through the dim streets, deep in thought.He wondered how Adam was doing.Wondered about Anathema and Newt, Sargent Shadwell and Madame Tracy.Wondered about the conversations taking place amongst the angels and the demons about their two operatives who had somehow grown immune to execution.Wondered how long this peace would last, when either side would try again.Wondered what the other angels thought about him now.Wondered what God thought.

He almost passed by a homeless man curled up on a piece of cardboard in a store’s doorway.With a look of concern, Aziraphale miracled a warm, tartan blanket to drape over him and wished him pleasant dreams.Two £20 notes and a brochure for a shelter with an open bed appeared in the man’s jacket pocket.As he continued on, Aziraphale wondered what would become of the man.What he gave him would last a night, not a lifetime.On nights when an angel didn’t happen to stumble upon him, who was watching over him?Who was caring for all of the lost souls of this world?Who was protecting them now that the whole universe had gone off script?Could it be, Aziraphale thought with a sigh, that no one was?

He would return to the bookshop just before sunrise.

\-----

“How much longer until– Oh, watch out for that– Ah, you saw it.Okay.How much longer?”

Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale as the Bentley whipped around another winding curve in the mountain road and the angel clutched at the door handle.Sometimes, Crowley suspected Aziraphale got some pleasure out of these theatrics; it was the only logical explanation for his ridiculous behavior.After nearly ten hours in the car, Crowley could definitively say he did not share that feeling.“Almost there,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice free of annoyance.

“Would you please–?” and Aziraphale didn’t need to finish the question that he had already asked four times that day: Crowley pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the road.

After almost a week of planning and fretting over the details, Crowley had casually – at least he hoped he had sounded casual – asked Aziraphale if he would be game for trying somewhere new for dinner the next evening.While Aziraphale did appreciate the familiar, he could always be enticed by the idea of a new restaurant.Crowley hadn’t told him that “somewhere new” meant “somewhere in the south of France” until the Bentley had disappeared from Soho and reappeared in Calais.Aziraphale’s look of shock merited laughter, then some explanation.He didn’t have nearly enough patience for the tunnel or ferry, but he did want to drive the length of France, enjoying the angel’s pleasant, at-times-slightly-exasperating company.

Deep in Crowley’s stomach, anxiety flitted with excitement.Would this place live up to the hype?It did have three Michelin stars, but Crowley hadn’t heard of it before he had started searching, and it could be a dreadful experience for all he knew.Still, when he had sat down to figure out just how to recreate that moment, make Aziraphale as happy as he had been when time had stopped, the first and most obvious tactic was food.The slightly-gluttonous angel had always thoroughly enjoyed a good meal.Maybe dinner at the best restaurant in the world, according to Google, would do the trick.

He almost drove past the place.At the last second, he spied the white rotunda peeking out from behind lush palm fronds and slammed on the breaks.“Crowley, I swear, I haven’t felt nausea since the last time I was on a passenger liner, but one more quick turn and I just might–”

“We’re here,” Crowley interrupted as he slowly pulled into the parking lot.

He climbed out of the Bentley first, eager to stretch his legs after all that driving.Walking around to the passenger side, he noticed that Aziraphale swayed slightly as he closed the car door.The angel’s skin was pale, but he donned a brave soldier smile and glanced behind Crowley at the restaurant, and, behind it, the sea.His smile grew, genuine and impressed.“Oh, Crowley, look.What a breathtaking view.I haven’t seen the Riviera in such a long time.”

Crowley, not wanting the meal spoiled before it began, reached out two fingers and lightly tapped Aziraphale’s hand.Instantly, the angel’s nausea vanished.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said warmly, “for that, and for this excursion.It is nice to get away once in a while.”As Crowley pulled his hand back, he felt Aziraphale grab it and hold on.Frozen in place, he watched the angel, who was watching the lights of Old Town dance across the waters as if he hadn’t just done something new and important that needed explanation.The reflections of the lights sparkled in Aziraphale’s bright eyes.

After a moment, Crowley recovered enough to speak.“Wait until you try the food.Supposed to be the best.Three Michelin stars, or something.”

Just then, a stout man with dark hair approached them.“Bonjour, you must be Monsieur Crowley and his guest.”The man glanced down at their hands; Aziraphale let go, and Crowley reached out to shake the owner’s hand.“I am Mauro.Welcome to Mirazur!We’ll start with a tour of my gardens and then sit down to dinner.Are you two celebrating a special occasion, perhaps?I’ll fix you something extra nice.Here, come this way.”

Neither one corrected him.

They had a wonderful night, drinking and dining with the Riviera’s azure darkness stretched out, sparkling, in all directions around them.While the food was everything the reviewers had promised, it must have fallen short somehow, because Crowley didn’t get the exact reaction he was looking for.He was silent on the walk back to the car, not really listening as Aziraphale raved about how kind and talented the chef was, already planning what he’d try next.

\-----

Several nights after their Mirazur experience, Aziraphale found himself pushing open the locked gates of Soho Square.As he paused to admire the statue of Charles II, he thought back to when the park had been used as an air-raid shelter during the second World War.A few times, he had joined the fearful masses there, radiating calm as the sirens sounded, trying desperately to be useful in the face of mass destruction.History does repeat itself, and Aziraphale was recognizing a pattern: in times of war and chaos, powerful though he was, he could do little but comfort and encourage others to choose peace.In his true form, he could do much, much more, yes, but that would break all sorts of Heavenly rules and Earthly laws of physics and such.Against the powers that wanted the Apocalypse, against Satan on that tarmac, even his true form couldn’t have stopped the war.Only Adam could have done that, and thank Heaven that he did, but it left Aziraphale feeling rather useless, after it all.What’s the point of having a power you can’t ever use, not even when those you love need saving?

Movement pulled him from his thoughts.Next to the mock-Tudor building in the center of the square, he saw something flutter across the ground in the darkness.As he approached it, he realized it was a pigeon.One of its wings dragged on the ground and it flailed, attempting to fly away but only making it a foot farther before giving up.“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered to it, and it grew still.

Tenderly, the angel picked up the bird and ran careful fingers over its injured wing.He found a broken bone, partially exposed through the skin, and winced at the damage.“Poor thing.You’ll be good as new in a moment.Easy fix.”With a sympathetic grimace, he channeled energy into the bird’s wing: bones knit back together, skin grew across the damaged area, feathers regenerated.“There you go.All better.”Smiling, he set the pigeon down.It cooed appreciatively, stretched its wings, and took flight.

As he watched the bird soar across the dimly-lit park and over the fence, into the night sky, he felt the presence of his own wings, hidden, folded, like always, tightly to his back.He missed flight, the freedom of the sky.He missed the simple pleasure of not having to conceal his wings.It had been so long.Back before all this, in Heaven, angels would groom each others’ wings, fly just to feel the rush of air, the exhilaration of flight.When was the last time he had tended to his wings?He couldn’t recall.Now that he was avoiding other angels at all costs, when would he get a chance to spread his wings again?Would he even still remember how to fly?It must be instinctual for angels, but a part of him feared he had lost that in exchange for so many earthly skills.A more terrifying question lingered at the back of his mind: were they still white?He didn’t dare ask it, even to himself.He walked on.

\-----

Humming to himself, Crowley ran his fingers through the dark feathers that enveloped him.He had cleverly chosen the hour just before dinner to put his plan into action, knowing that Aziraphale would grow peckish and come looking for him soon enough.Until then, he preened.He hadn’t done this since before the attempted Apocalypse, so it didn’t surprise him that his wings were far from their usual pristine condition.Sitting on the edge of Aziraphale’s bed, he moved his hands slowly, brushing away ash and dust, straightening feathers that had shifted.As he worked, he thought through what he’d say to produce the desired effect.He had been foolish to think that a simple meal would do the trick.It was the wings that would do it.It had to be.

After a while, there was a knock at the door.“Crowley?”

One corner of the demon’s mouth lifted to a smirk.Showtime.“Come in.”

“Are you decent?” Aziraphale asked as he opened the door a crack. 

Eyebrow raised, Crowley wondered what he thought Crowley did in here, in his bed, at four in the afternoon, and responded with a non-committal “Mmm.”

Aziraphale took a step into the room.“I was thinking we could…”His voice faded away as his gaze swept over Crowley, shirtless, surrounded by his wings, softly lit by the hazy sunlight drifting across the room.The angel’s mouth hung open.He appeared to have stopped breathing.

“Could what?” Crowley asked innocently, hands falling still.To see his feathers better, he had removed his glasses, but he almost wished he hadn’t, feeling vulnerable under Aziraphale’s stare.“Aziraphale?You still in there?”

Aziraphale’s gaze swept slowly over Crowley’s wings.“Um, I… was going to ask… if… I’m sorry, bit distracting, you, like this. Your wings, I mean. Wasn’t expecting it.”As he spoke, his face cycled through a range of emotions: confusion, guilt, surprise, nervousness, admiration.Not like the expression Crowley wanted, but, then again, this wasn’t all the demon had planned.

Crowley shrugged.“Hadn’t groomed them since before the world almost went up in flames.Overdue.”He flexed his wings gently, careful not to disturb too much air in the small space.“Loads of burnt Bentley stuck to them.Did I get it all?”He turned on the bed, tucking a leg underneath him and facing away from Aziraphale, wings spread.“Will you check?”

Silence for a moment, then a quiet, “Of course.”He could feel the angel step closer, feel the warmth of a hand hovering over his feathers, almost but not quite touching, as he examined them.“Perfect.Not a spot on them.”

“Mm, good.”Crowley paused for effect, then asked, “How about yours?”He didn’t turn around, but he could just imagine the stunned look on the angel’s face.

“Mine?”

“Yes.Done them recently?”

“Um, no.”

Crowley pulled his wings in close to his back, turned to face Aziraphale, and asked “May I?” in his most tempting tone.It was a bold question, one that filled Crowley with doubt.He had come to see this as a solitary act, done in seclusion, because it made him vulnerable.The last time he had touched another’s wings, he had been an angel, himself, too.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up.“You… want to…?”

“Sure,” said Crowley.“If the state of your flat is any indication, they’ll be coated in so much dust you won’t be able to see ‘em,” he said with a grin, masking the seriousness of what he was asking.“Seriously, it’s not good to neglect them.C’mon.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then smiled nervously and said, “alright.Kind of you to offer.I suppose I should…”He started taking off his coat.

“Ah, yes, wouldn’t want to put any strain on that threadbare waistcoat of yours.It has to last another hundred years, at least, right?”It came out more fondly than Crowley had intended, but earned a glare from Aziraphale anyway.

After a long moment, the angel’s jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were folded neatly on the top of his dresser, and he stood awkwardly next to the bed.“I’ll just…”Crowley nodded, leaning forward in anticipation.

With a burst of air, Aziraphale’s wings appeared, unfurling behind him.He smiled at the feeling, then looked, unsure, at Crowley, who was too distracted by the impeccably white feathers to feel disappointed that his plan had failed.Eager to touch, Crowley stood, motioning for Aziraphale to move to the bed.“Be easier if you sit.”The angel did as he was told, spreading his wings cautiously as he settled himself on the duvet.Crowley stood behind him, reverently silent, ancient and almost-destroyed memories of Heaven fluttering at the margins of his mind.Slowly, he took a deep breath, reached out, and ran a hand tentatively over the edge of one white wing.Crowley couldn’t see it, but Aziraphale’s eyes fell closed.Another shaky breath, and he began to comb his fingers through the feathers, gently restoring them to their grandeur.

When he was finished, they would dress and go to dinner, where Crowley would barely take a bite of his halibut, unable to stop staring at this impossible puzzle of an angel sitting primly in front of him.

\-----

With a click, the bookshop door locked behind him.It was sprinkling, but Aziraphale had grabbed his umbrella before heading out.Another aimless walk: another chance for both mind and body to wander in darkness.

On Poland Street, a couple leaving a bar caught his attention.They huddled close together under one umbrella, laughing about some joke shared just between the two of them.As they passed under a streetlight, Aziraphale could see that they were holding hands.

Aziraphale thought back to that moment on the Riviera when he had, for not even a full minute, held Crowley’s hand.It had felt a little like a different world, there – far from his shop, the park, their usual landscape – and that had made him bold.Aziraphale was not an idiot: he knew he loved Crowley, and not just in the general angelic manner.It may have taken him a while to fall in love, and then another while longer to process and come to terms with it, but he knew.And once he knew, he couldn’t stop knowing; the knowledge was as much a part of him as his wings, hidden from sight but ever-present.

What he didn’t know was how Crowley felt.Even though Aziraphale would catch him, now and then, staring at his mouth while he talked or his hands while he read, and even though Crowley had done him many selfless favors over the years, he could not be absolutely sure what the moody demon wanted.On top of that, there was the old fear that Heaven would disapprove of an angel expressing love physically, especially to an agent of the other side.Recent events, however, had earned them a reprieve from the watchful eyes of their Head Offices, and Crowley had seemed happier, less afraid, and more interested in him than ever before.So, because of all of that, and because it had felt right, he had taken Crowley’s hand in his.

Hands, and then, wings.Oh, that was something entirely new, the feeling of Crowley’s long fingers moving through his feathers: intimate and precious and over far too quickly.How long would he have to wait before he could feel that again?Was it wrong for an angel to desire physical intimacy, and from a demon, no less?Wasn’t he supposed to be immune to these feelings unless he tried to feel them? _Was_ he trying?Could he stop?(Would he, if he could?)

Aziraphale watched as the couple kissed, then hailed a cab, heading home together to their shared life.He thought of Crowley, asleep in his bed, and walked instinctively in the direction of his street.

\-----

“It’s called a flight, angel, and you’ll love it, trust me,” Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm and pulling him in the direction of the upscale wine bar across the street from that night’s restaurant.

As he looked both ways for cars, Aziraphale grumbled, “we have plenty of wine at home.”

“Yeah, all vintages you know you like because you’ve had them before.It never hurts to try something new.Expand your horizons.”Tonight’s motto, thought Crowley, holding the door open for him.

As Crowley knew he would, Aziraphale quickly warmed to the concept of flights, and after his third one, he started chatting with the server about his favorites from the night so far.Thankful for the distraction, Crowley took the opportunity to encourage a few impure thoughts in the minds of the couple at the bar.They had been whispering in each other’s ears and giggling for the past hour.It was their fifth date, so they barely needed more than a nudge in the right direction; as soon as he could catch the bartender’s attention, the man asked for his bill.When they left, Crowley checked his watch.

Ten minutes later, he downed the rest of his wine and asked, “ready to head back?”

“If you are.”

Their walk home took them through Golden Square.It was late enough that most of the area was deserted, but there were two figures on a bench in the dark to their right.As they walked closer, it became clear that the couple was in the middle of a very passionate embrace, one sitting on the lap of the other.Aziraphale glanced at them, then looked at Crowley, smiling with his eyebrows raised.Crowley made a disgusted face.“Young love.”

“Shh.I think it’s nice,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Nice, is it?Hmm.You ever try it, then, if it’s so nice?”

Aziraphale looked away, across the square, at nothing in particular.“Well, angels are beings of love, you know, and sometimes that love is best conveyed physically, at least in humans’ opinions, so, yes, I have, on occasion.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped.“You _have_?” he asked loudly.

“Quiet,” Aziraphale whispered sharply.He glanced back over at the couple, who seemed too caught up in each other to notice.“Yes, a few times, here and there.Very effective, though it can be… complicated.”

With a bark of laughter, Crowley came to a dead stop.“A few times?With who?”

Aziraphale sighed and shook his head.“No one you knew.I don’t see why you’re so shocked.”

“Oh, you don’t?You don’t see why I’d be shocked that an Angel of the Lord, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, for anybody’s sake, has been ‘here and there’ screwing humans all throughout history?”This was not going according to plan.

“‘Screwing’– Crowley, that is _not_ what I meant.”Aziraphale blushed, indignant.“I haven’t– They’re _kissing_.I thought you meant kissing.”

Crowley visibly relaxed, shaking his head in disbelief.“Take another look, angel,” he laughed.“They’re doing more than that, I assure you.”While Aziraphale naively glanced back at the couple, Crowley sauntered on toward the bookshop, thankful for how easy it was to convince humans to do what they honestly wanted to do, deep down.He hoped angels weren’t much tougher.

Aziraphale caught up to him.After a minute of footsteps and hesitance, Crowley asked in a low voice, “so I assume that’s a ‘no’ to my original question, then?”

Aziraphale looked down at his hands.“You would be correct.”

Another pause.“Why not?”

“Well, I never felt it was right, for an angel, to indulge in something that could hurt others.”Aziraphale noticed Crowley studying his face as he spoke.“Humans do associate so much emotion with physical intimacy, and it’s not as if I ever intended to enter into anything... serious with any of them.There are simpler ways to show love or feel pleasure.”They turned onto Berwick, and Aziraphale, who had been avoiding Crowley’s gaze, gave Crowley a guarded look.“Must be a good tool for temptation, though, I’m sure.”

Pleased that the conversation was moving in the right direction, Crowley shrugged.“Wouldn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh.”

“Come on, is that actually how you think I get my job done?Just sleep around until everyone’s souls are nicely tarnished with lust, say ‘oh, thank you all for your hospitality, lovely getting to know you all so well,’ and move on to the next town?”

Aziraphale laughed as he unlocked the shop door.“Well, no, but you never were one for working particularly hard, my dear, and that seems like an easy way to lure someone into the clutches of hedonism.”

“Right, rearranging the entire plan for a major motorway was a delightful piece of cake, no effort there.”Rolling his eyes, Crowley walked up the steps and locked the door behind him.“And sex isn’t all that easy, angel.There’s effort involved, especially for us.”The angel raised an eyebrow at his use of the word ‘us,’ but Crowley continued.“Plus, like you said, the humans get attached when they do that.Can’t compartmentalize.It’d get messy.”

A bottle and two glasses appeared on the end table as Aziraphale sat down on the sofa.Crowley poured a glass and handed it to him, making sure their fingers touched in the transfer.“Thank you.”

“Mm.”Crowley sat down on the other end of the sofa, curled his legs up under him, turned so he was facing Aziraphale, and took a sip of Bordeaux.“I have wondered, though, what it would be like with someone less… impressionable.Could be fun.”He stared at Aziraphale from his corner of the sofa, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“The humans do seem to enjoy it,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

“And they can’t sense much, you know, not compared to us,” he said as he leaned forward.“Think about the best dessert you’ve ever had.”He could tell Aziraphale was running through the mental catalogue, evaluating.“Bet you it’s way better than that.”Crowley’s arm was stretching along the back of the sofa, now, and his fingertips brushed the edges of the angel’s curls.Sensing this, Aziraphale turned to look questioningly at Crowley, his gaze falling to his lips.“Feeling indulgent?Want to find out?”

Finally, Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley was suggesting.“Oh,” he exhaled, brows knit together, “Crowley, do you…”He trailed off when Crowley leaned very close, overwhelmed by the familiar smell of his cologne and how casually his fingers brushed Aziraphale’s as he took the wine glass from him and set it down next to the bottle.“Do you think it’s wise?”

With a grin, Crowley removed his sunglasses and tossed them on the table.“Why not?Unless you don’t want to.”His tone of voice hinted that he knew Aziraphale did.

The angel swallowed, smiled, and said “We could… give it a try.”

Making a concerted effort to move slowly, Crowley leaned over and kissed Aziraphale, who instantly kissed him back, placing a hand on his chest over his heart.Crowley waited for him to get cold feet, to pull away.He was shocked when, instead, the angel parted his lips and deepened the kiss.One of his hands pressed gently at the back of Aziraphale’s neck; the other grabbed hold of his lapel. 

When he started this, Crowley had a goal in mind, and, while he hadn’t forgotten it, it quickly took a back seat to all of the new things he was discovering about Aziraphale: the slide of his tongue, the way he tasted of oak and crème brûlée, the pitch of the soft hum he made when Crowley slid onto his lap, straddling him.

Knowing Aziraphale would have a fit if he vanished his clothes, Crowley struggled to untie his bowtie, finally having to break the kiss to get a better look at it.“How the Heaven do you– Oh, mm, yes,” he choked as he felt hands clutch his hips and pull them closer.He finally got the tie undone, tossing it over the arm of the sofa, and made quick work of the jacket and waistcoat.Aziraphale interrupted to nudge Crowley’s jacket off, then kiss down his neck to his collarbone, undoing buttons as he went.Shaking a little, Crowley felt the dam he had spent thousands of years reinforcing start to crack and crumble as he roughly tugged at Aziraphale’s belt buckle.Now.Finally.And then a voice in his head reminded him of a conversation, years ago, about speed.Although he feared the answer, he slowed his fingers and asked quietly, “this okay?”

Hair ruffled, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, the angel said softly, “Absolutely.”Smiling sinfully, Crowley slid to his knees.

Aziraphale didn’t last long, not with Crowley’s tongue.He uttered words that Crowley had never heard him speak before, not in 6,000 years, and tried, but failed, to keep his hands out of Crowley’s hair.Crowley shivered as Aziraphale moaned his name and tensed, and he stared up into the angel’s blue eyes, waiting.He looked gorgeous, coming undone, Crowley’s name on his lips.This was an entirely new expression on his face – much less innocent than the smile Crowley sought to replicate, he thought much later, when he was able to form intelligent thoughts again – and then there was a sudden rush of air and horrible shattering sounds and feathers everywhere, and then silence. 

Crowley leaned back on his heels and took in the sight of Aziraphale, a look of dazed satisfaction on his face, looking confusedly from left to right at his wings that were now awkwardly draped over the sofa and end table.“Oh, dear, I think I spilled the wine,” he said in a soft, breathy tone that contained not an ounce of concern for his carpet, and Crowley dissolved into affectionate laughter.

\-----

Even after all of their years on Earth together, they were still surprising each other.Over the course of the week that followed that night, Crowley learned that the angel actually was, when he put his mind to it, astonishingly skilled at temptation.Aziraphale, who had only seen Crowley lower his defenses a handful of times since the Garden, discovered how he looked at his most vulnerable, when he begged and pleaded, at the mercy of an angel.

Late Saturday night, they lay in bed together, Aziraphale resting his head on Crowley’s bare chest, listening to his racing heart.He still felt immensely lucky to be this close to Crowley, to have the privilege of touching his skin for hours when he had been surviving on accidental brushings of hands for so long.All of this hadn’t necessarily began the way Aziraphale had predicted it might, no emotional confessions or drunken mistakes-that-weren’t-really-mistakes, but he was happy, nonetheless, to have arrived here.Eventually, when he heard Crowley’s heartbeat slowing, he propped himself up on his elbow and said, “I’ll leave you to your sleep.Good night.”He kissed Crowley’s forehead and slid out of bed.Crowley mumbled something that Aziraphale thought sounded like “okay” (but was really “don’t go”) and watched as Aziraphale dressed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

With their friendship having taken this new turn, Aziraphale had a lot to process.He sat for a few minutes in his armchair, thinking, giving Crowley time to fall asleep.When he felt it was safe, he quietly descended the stairs and stepped out into the crisp autumn air.

Again, as he wandered, he found the freedom in the dark, cool night to explore what had been weighing on him.What did all of this mean, now?Crowley had posed it as an experiment, something purely physical.Aziraphale recalled something about wanting a partner who wasn’t “impressionable”; he assumed that meant unattached, uncomplicated.But how could he be anything but attached after so many years, all they had survived and done for each other?Despite this evolution of their relationship, Aziraphale felt no closer to understanding the demon’s carefully-guarded feelings than he had months ago.

Did any of it – the love, the loyalty, the trust – matter if Heaven disapproved?Was it worth stepping closer to the edge, eyes closed, praying his feet found solid ground?

They weren’t on any side but their own, these days: Aziraphale knew this now.Still, there was the ancient, instinctual, unshakable fear of Falling.

His feet had brought him to the gates of St. Anne’s Churchyard.He could have let himself in with ease, but instead, he stopped at the fence, staring across the small park at the towering spire of the church.In the distance, he heard footsteps, but failed to register who they belonged to until he heard his voice.

“I know angels are meant to be pious, but I don’t think they’re open for confession at 4 in the morning,” joked Crowley, though his voice wavered.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said with a guilty look on his face, “if I woke you.”

“You didn’t, but you did nearly discorporate me via heart attack when I came to tell you something and couldn’t find you anywhere.What on earth are you doing wandering around the city in the dark?”

“Just out for a stroll.”

“Just out for a stroll,” Crowley repeated flatly, eyebrow cocked.“Right.”He stepped closer.“Maybe you could, I don’t know, tell me next time you decide to disappear in the middle of the night so I don’t have to search the whole bloody city for you.”Under the anger in those words, Aziraphale recognized anxiety and fear.

“Well, you have always been good at finding me,” he said calmly, turning back to look up at the church.

There was the sound of a sharp exhalation, then, almost too quietly for the angel to hear, the words “Not always.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut as he connected the dots.“Oh, Crowley… I am sorry.That was thoughtless of me.I’ve gotten in the habit of leaving, after you go to sleep, to walk, clear my head.I didn’t consider what you’d think if you woke and… I’m so sorry.”

Crowley moved to stand next to him, their shoulders touching, and followed his gaze to the church.“What’s in your head that needs clearing, then?”He was skilled at this dance by now: Aziraphale’s worries, his logic, the eventual grateful smile and change of subject.

The angel was at a loss for words.He barely knew, himself; he didn’t think he could explain.After a moment, he sighed and admitted, “Questions.”

A chilly gust of wind shook the leaves left on the trees.They stood in silence for a moment, listening.Then, “About?”

You, Aziraphale thought, you and us and Heaven and rules and God and mercy and all of it.I’ve got questions about all of it, and I was made to have none, he wanted to say, and it feels wrong, like I’m at the edge of a cliff and the ground is crumbling beneath me and yet I can’t step back. 

Instead, he said, “Do you know what they named this fence, when they built it a few years back?The ‘Wall of Light.’It’s meant to keep out the addicted and the homeless.”The bitterness in his voice surprised Crowley.He didn’t sound like himself.“They rebuilt this church from ruins, after the Blitz, and surrounded it with trees and flowers and benches, and then put up a wall to keep out the people who need its shelter the most.”

Crowley noticed the angel’s hands were clenched into fists.Treading lightly, he said, “Sounds awfully human to me.”

“That’s just it, though.It isn’t just human.Doesn’t it feel… like what they’ve done, to us, now?”Aziraphale’s voice grew quiet and sad.“What She’s done?The silence, the barriers.”

Recognizing they had just stumbled into uncharted territory, Crowley fell silent, face masking the panic he was feeling inside.This was not like the angel he knew, the one capable of the pure happiness he had witnessed when time had stopped.Crowley had grown used to living in exile, agonizing over the pieces of his shattered faith for six thousand years, alone; Aziraphale’s own confidence in the ineffable had splintered mere months ago, and he had just finally opened his eyes and taken in the damage.Remembering the flames, his own loss and fear, how isolating it had been, Crowley reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand in his own, interlacing their fingers.

“I know it feels new, with everything that got exposed in the mess, but the wall’s always been there.Your faith told you there was a gate somewhere, if you ever needed it, but then, well, when you did…”Crowley sighed.“But that’s the point, I think.We’re not meant to be able to get close.None of us are.We just do the best we can – well, the worst, in my case – and hope we’re right.You, oh, your best is infinitely better than any of theirs,” he said as he gestured skyward.“You chose to save all of this, Aziraphale.This church, these trees and flowers and, yes, this stupid fence and the humans’ free will to decide to put up a fence, one day, and to tear one down the next.You fought for that, and you won.That must feel right, even without confirmation from Her.”

As Crowley spoke, tears grew in Aziraphale’s eyes, who swallowed and corrected him quietly.“ _We_ , Crowley.We saved this.Oh, perhaps you’re right.I just wish I could understand it all a little better.Angels aren’t supposed to have free will.I shouldn’t have been able to disobey, to refuse to play my intended part in their war, but I was.I believed it was the right thing to do.The archangels’ judgement means little to me, but I’ve just been waiting for Hers, wondering why I haven’t… Fallen… yet.”

“Why you haven’t–” Crowley started, turning to look at Aziraphale, eyes wide.“Angel, you don’t Fall for…”A misstep, he quickly realized, as he honestly didn’t know where She drew the line, if there even was one.A line would be a visual that angels could use as a marker, as bearings, and that, Crowley thought, would be giving her too much credit.There was no line: only Her will and judgement.“It would’ve happened by now.Either you found a little free will and God didn’t mind, or your disobedience was part of the plan all along, who knows, but you’re safe, now.”

“Questions, remember?Isn’t that what you said started it all, for you?They’re all I have, these days.”

The demon gave a bitter laugh.With his free hand, he touched Aziraphale’s cheek, turning his head, waiting until blue eyes met his.“There’s such a thing as the right questions to ask and the right time to ask them.Rubbish at timing, me, you know that, but maybe you’re meant to ask now, after it all almost came to an end.You’re asking with good intentions.I wasn’t.”It wasn’t a lie, but it was a guess, and one that Crowley wasn’t too confident in.He had no trust in God’s plans or Her mercy – 'once burned,’ as they say – but he wouldn’t stand for Aziraphale sharing his disenchantment and anxiety.“That prick Gabriel and the rest of his vengeful lot can’t be the pinnacle of goodness in the universe.But because you think for yourself and make daft, wonderful decisions like deserting the angelic army and foiling the great plans of Heaven and Hell, you can be.You’re the best of them, Aziraphale.Can’t you see that?”

A cold breeze ruffled Aziraphale’s curls as he considered this.With his logic and affirmations, Crowley was patching the ground beneath Aziraphale’s feet; he was starting to feel steady again.“Why give me the ability to question, now?What good can that possibly do?”

“You’ve always been able to.You were told to hang on to that sword, after all.You have a lot of power now.You’re the only angel on Earth with Her humans, and no one knows what’s coming next.Your questioning can help you look out for what’s really best for them.And who knows, maybe you could even influence some of the better angels to help, show them why this was worth saving.”He squeezed his hand.“Just don’t forget your primary objective, of course.If thwarting the Apocalypse made you better, stronger, think what it must’ve done to me.I’ll need a lot of close attention, lots of irresistible distractions from my diabolical plans,” Crowley said in a sibilant whisper, flashing an evil grin.

A smile began to form on Aziraphale’s face, the corners of his eyes crinkling.With a powerful sense of relief, Crowley realized he had talked him back onto solid ground.A few seconds passed, and then Aziraphale said, “What did you need to tell me?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“You said, earlier, that you went looking for me because you had to tell me something,” he reminded Crowley patiently.

“Oh, yeah, uh…”In the chaos of Aziraphale’s revelations, Crowley had lost his nerve, and he had been hoping his words had been forgotten by now.He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Aziraphale.“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” he started, “I…”Needing to ground himself in the truth he knew, but couldn’t say just yet, Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale.Cupping the angel’s face in his hands, he kissed him gently, then pulled back just a little, bringing their foreheads together.Aziraphale’s eyes were still closed.Crowley whispered, “I love you.You probably already know, but… there it is.”

And there _it was_ , the smile, the sigh, the dip of the shoulders, the light happiness that Crowley had been longing to see again on the angel’s face.He had happened upon the answer just when he had given up trying to find it.“Oh.”The last piece of the puzzle snapped into place, and the picture revealed itself.The determining factor had been him, all along.It had been joy in realizing Crowley had taken action, finally tried and gotten it right, just in time, back then, and, again, now.

Aziraphale opened his eyes.“And I love you.”

While his mind wrapped itself around this revelation, his mouth operated on autopilot.“Yeah, but you have to love everybody,” he said, a joke with uncertainty underneath it.

“Not like this, my dear.”In all the restless nights, he had questioned many aspects of the world and his place in it, but his love for Crowley had never been one of them.“Not like you.”Aziraphale proved it with another lingering kiss.Let the rest of the universe swirl around him in a blinding storm of uncertainty: he would ground himself in their love and stand steady.

As they walked back to the bookshop together, Aziraphale rambled on excitedly about a new pastry shop that was opening up down the street, his tone light after unburdening himself of the concerns he had been needlessly bearing alone for so long.Twice, he seemed to lose his train of thought, stopping in the middle of sentences to beam at Crowley adoringly.For show, like always, Crowley rolled his eyes and scoffed, protesting with all the demonic energy he could muster, knowing that the grin stubbornly lighting up his face was giving him away.Surprising himself, he realized he didn’t mind the transparency.If his love was enough to make Aziraphale happy, then he would spend eternity finding new ways to express it.The first pale hues of sunrise brushed the sky as they turned onto Berwick, toward home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a kudos or comment so I know. You can also follow me on Tumblr [here as thetunewillcome](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thetunewillcome). I have many more ideas and don't anticipate ending my Good Omens obsession anytime soon.
> 
> All of the streets and places in this fic are real, but I’ve never actually seen any of them in person. I tried my best to make their descriptions accurate using GoogleMaps and various articles. My knowledge of the Mirazur dining experience came from [this review](https://www.cnn.com/travel/article/mirazur-worlds-best-restaurant/index.html). Neil Gaiman said [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/neilhimself/status/1148616655267946497) that they modeled the street where Aziraphale's bookshop is located in the TV show on Berwick St. If I got any details wrong, please kindly let me know.


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